Displacement------Relative Motion Pt. 8
Title: Relative Motion-Pt. 8
Author:toolazytowork
Character/Pairing(s): House/Wilson
Word Count: 3297
Total Words: ~17555 (According to that great purveyor of truthiness, Wikipedia, this is a novella. Woo.)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: When I grow up, I'm going to Bovine University
Summary: Wilson's moved and left no forwarding address
Author's Notes original prompt from the we_take_five challenge
Prompt: #42 velocity
Part 1-Gone
Part 2-Tom
Part 3-Assistance
Part 4-Wilson
Part 5-California
Part 6-The Waiting
Part 7-Predictable
Alcohol does strange things to sleep patterns. The first few hours are as heavy and dreamless as the remainder are fitful and restless.
************
The first time House woke up he tried to shift position on the couch. His arm had fallen asleep, sharp pinpricks danced along his skin. He had to pee, but wasn't ready to move. For that matter, he wasn't sure he could. He rubbed his arm, tried to get the blood flowing.
Tom had been home for awhile. He hadn't heard him come in. Not much of a surprise there. There wasn't a clock anywhere handy, but he'd put money on it being close 4 am . Over the years, House had discovered that 4 am was the hour when he was most prone to wake from a drink induced sleep.
He needed a pill. The combined effects of sleeping on the couch, a poorly executed fall into unconsciousness and three rounds with Wilson had taken a toll.
The pain was intense. He pushed himself up on his elbow, even that slight movement turned his stomach. He closed his eyes and waited for the waves of nausea to cease.
Wilson had left a glass of water and his bottle of Vicodin on the coffee table.
Wilson Wilson. He was the one who had left the water.
Not Tom. It would take years to get someone that well-trained. It wasn't something that happened overnight.
This apartment contained more than the recommended capacity of Wilsons. One could be too many. Two was just asking for trouble.
It had never occurred to House to use anything other than his first name when talking to or about Tom. Any relationship that begins with an insult should proceed to a casual form of address without much fanfare.
Tom always called Wilson 'Jimmy.' Never James. Or Jim. Jimmy. Without the irony or humor that the nickname deserved. He said it like he still thought of him as a pesky little kid.
Jimmy fell off his bike.
Jimmy's bothering me.
After the events of the last week, maybe he had the right idea.
Slowly, House reached out and picked up the bottle of pills. The cap was loose. It popped off with a flick of his thumb. He swallowed a pill, chased it down with as much of the water as he could drink in one gulp and dropped back onto the couch.
When the drug took effect, then he'd get up. No point in trying to do anything before then.
For now, he could almost make out the conversation in the other room.
Almost.
He could hear murmurs.
The shuffle of sock feet against carpet.
Fractions of language.
Just sound.
White noise.
He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
He must have succeeded.
**************
The second time House woke up his bladder was insistent. As quiet as he could, he shuffled down the hall. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't need his cane. Not for that kind of distance. These were not normal circumstances. His arms were sore. Pinning Wilson to the floor, trying to choke him, that was a greater than usual strain on that particular set of muscles.
His face hurt like hell. Wilson had gotten in a few good punches. Wouldn't have suspected that he fought as well, or as dirty, as he had.
He took some solace in the knowledge that Wilson wouldn't feel too peachy when he woke up.
If or when he was to go to sleep.
They were both awake, and still talking. House wished he knew what time it was. He'd have a much better idea of the stage of the conversation.
"I don't know," Wilson said.
"Yeah, you do."
"We've been over this. Repeatedly. I haven't seen you in ten years and this is what you want to talk about? What kind of answer do you think you'll get this time?"
"How about an honest one."
"Don't try to lecture me. You don't get to be the big brother, Tom. You relinquished that right a long time ago."
"What was I thinking? You have sole rights to any and all lecturing that might take place while you're here."
"Do you have to be such an ass?"
"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm tired. It's been a long, strange week and I'm exhausted."
"I should let you get some sleep. I'll sleep on the floor. House might even be unconscious enough that he won't notice if I steal a cushion off the couch."
"Remember when we were kids and Mom and Dad would take us on vacation and all three of us had to sleep in one bed?"
"You always made me sleep in the middle. I'm lucky neither of you ever suffocated me with a pillow. Not for lack of trying, I suspect."
"We both have plenty of experience with less than ideal sleeping arrangements. I promise not to take more than my share."
"We're not kids anymore. It wouldn't work. It hardly worked then."
"If you'd rather crash on the floor, that's fine. But the offer stands. I'm going to sleep."
House moved away from the door and shut himself into the bathroom. He didn't think it would matter that he was listening. He hadn't heard anything juicy, except that Ma and Pa Wilson liked to travel on the cheap. He'd suspected that anyway.
His face was swollen. Not as bad as it could be. He's have to turn down any magazine cover offers for a week or so.
"House? Are you all right?" Wilson asked.
"Just peeing. I can manage without any help, thanks."
He flushed and opened the door. Wilson was leaning against the wall. He looked terrible. If House had to guess, he'd say that the emotional pain was more intense than the physical.
"Oh God. Your face." He shook his head and looked down at the floor.
House suspected the action was performed more out of embarassment than regret.
"I've had worse. How're you doing?"
"Not too bad. I got in more punches," he shrugged.
House braced himself against the wall. Cane or no cane, he wouldn't be able to stand much longer.
"You don't fight fair."
"As if you do."
Wilson recognized House's expression. The familiar way his brow creased and his eyes focused on some invisible spot in space.
"Do you need help?"
"No."
"If you need anything, I'm here."
"Until you decide you have something better to do."
There was no way to respond to that without starting another fight.
******************
The third time House woke up, he smelled eggs frying and heard the sound of coffee brewing. He didn't feel as bad as he had the last time. He was able to sit up without much more than the usual effort. He swallowed another pill--better safe than sorry--and finished the last of the water.
He turned around on the couch and faced the kitchen.
"Where did you find eggs?"
"The 7-11. Turns out they sell more than Big Gulps."
"That's still the best part."
Wilson chuckled. "Yeah. I got one of those, too."
"You're up early." House got up and walked over to the kitchen.
"It's 10 o'clock. It's hard to get jet lag from train travel. If anything, you have extra time to catch up on your sleep."
"Is that how you got here?"
"Yeah." He slid the cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a plate with two halved slices of buttered toast. "Get a plate. I'll share."
"You were planning to eat four eggs?"
"And toast." He shook his head. "I figured the smell of food would rouse you from your slumber. If it didn't, I probably could have eaten it all. It's been awhile since I had a home cooked meal."
"That's your choice," House said as he pulled a plate out of the cupboard.
"Are we going to have an actual conversation? Or would you like to just keep sniping at me?" He pushed half of the food onto the other plate and handed it to House. "Go sit down. I'll bring the coffee."
He placed the coffee cups down on the table and sat down on the couch next to House. "Sleep well?"
"Like shit. You?"
"I didn't. Couldn't. Every time I thought I was about to fall asleep I'd get this feeling like I was still moving. Still on the train."
"That's normal," House said through a bite of food.
"I've traveled before. I know that feeling. This was different. I didn't want to fall asleep. There's too much going on. I can't help it...This whole thing with Tom, I didn't tell you...I didn't tell anyone. I don't think it's going to last. He'll be back out on the street, or worse, and..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want to bring anyone else into it."
House sat his fork down on the plate and looked at Wilson. "You should have said something."
"Like you would've done anything but make some smart ass remark."
"There are certain things I don't mock." He looked away. "I'm not completely heartless."
"You're pretty damn close sometimes."
"You've known me a long time. Don't you trust me at all?"
Wilson pushed his breakfast around on his plate.
"I asked you a question." House bent his head down until he was in Wilson's line of sight.
"No," he dropped his fork and looked up. "Not then I didn't."
"What about now?"
"I don't know. You're trying, I suppose. That's more than you usually do."
"It's good to know you hold my friendship in such high esteem."
"At least as high as you hold mine."
They sat back on the couch and stared in the direction of the television. The silence would have been much less uncomfortable had it been turned on.
The wrong comeback could be devastating.
House leaned forward and took a piece of toast off of Wilson's plate.
"I was going to eat that."
"You want it back?" He held out the (still whole) piece of bread.
"No, go ahead."
"Thanks."
"It's raw."
"Pretty sure it's toasted. Explains the crispy edges and the golden brown color." He raised his eyebrows, widened his eyes and searched for the hint of a smile.
He got one. A familiar smile. One that said: 'that was a lame joke, and I'm only smiling so you don't stretch it out.'
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah. I do."
The toast gone, he dusted the crumbs off his hands and onto the plate.
Wilson picked up the plates and carried them into the kitchen. He came back a minute later with the coffee pot. "Top you off?"
He held his cup up for Wilson to refill. "If you don't want to go home maybe Tom can get you a job at that overpriced taco stand he works at."
"I'm used to waiting on you." He turned around and went back into the kitchen. "Want a glass of water or anything?"
"Sure."
"I'm sorry," he said as he sat back down on the couch. "My behavior last night...there's no excuse."
"I'm surprised it took you as long as it did."
"That's not the way mature adults deal with their problems. It just makes things worse." He reached his hand out towards the bruises he had inflicted. "I--I..." Frustrated or ashamed, it was hard to tell which, covered his eyes with the palms of his hands.
"So you don't have a problem with anything I did? That's all fine?"
"No! I have questions. But, you were attacked And there were..." He dropped his hands to his lap. "Extenuating circumstances. A lot can be forgiven in that case."
"You threw the first punch. That doesn't mean you instigated it.You should have said something. Not that I would have listened. Not even trying? That's not like you."
"Everyone has a breaking point. I reached mine--no one noticed. If anything, I was supposed to get stronger. You and Cuddy and everyone else, you all assumed I would take care of everything. No one even offered me a choice. I did everything I could to clean up the mess you made. I did it all."
"Yeah, you did."
"Did you even think about what I was going through?"
"Would you believe me if I said yes?"
He chuckled, a sound that somehow didn't sound bitter. Just resigned. "I'd try to."
"But you don't." House shifted closer to Wilson. The action didn't feel natural. He had to try.
The proximity made Wilson tense up and shift closer to the arm of the couch. "What are you doing?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I'm trying to comfort you. This is how you do it, isn't it? Listen. Answer questions with honesty and sincerity. Make eye contact. Apply a well-timed hand on the shoulder."
"It's not a science experiment. You can't quantify compassion. You're either capable of feeling it or you're not. Don't try to fake it. It's below you."
House fought the urge to slide back onto his half of the couch. "It's not fake." He held Wilson's stare. "Is that really that hard for you to believe?"
Wilson tilted further away. "Are you going to try to kiss me again?"
That brought a smile. "Do you want me to?"
He was practically leaning over the arm now. "To be honest, I think I have enough to worry about right now."
"Fair enough." House moved a few inches back towards the middle of the couch.
Wilson relaxed a little. He was sitting on the cushion, at least, instead of hovering over it.
"I'm a better kisser than that. Just for the record."
"I'll keep that in mind," Wilson said. "So am I. Since we're sharing."
Tom walked out of the bedroom. "Morning," he mumbled.
"I going to make him something to eat."
Wilson got up, went to the kitchen and started fixing breakfast.
House picked up his coffee cup and took a drink. It was lukewarm. He choked it down and sat the cup back on the table.
Tom was in the kitchen fixing a cup of coffee.
"Did you sleep at all?"
"Not much." Wilson shook his head. "It's all right. How do you like your eggs?"
"Scrambled is fine."
"Go sit down, I'll bring it out."
"You don't have to wait on me. I can take care of myself."
"It's okay. Sit."
"Yes, Mom."
"Ha."
Tom sat down on the vacant end of the couch. "Heard you had a fun night."
"A real laugh riot."
"Yeah."
They nodded. Tom got up and flipped on the television. He chased through the channels and landed on a Sunday morning news program.
"You should probably go home." His voice was just above a whisper. "Jimmy's here. He's fine. Everything's fine. You can go home now. There's not enough room for all of us, anyway."
House turned to face Tom. "Did he ask you to do this?"
"There's no reason for you to stay."
"That isn't what I asked. Whose idea is this?"
"It's mutual."
"Oh."
Tom turned his attention to the television.
House couldn't be bothered with political commentary.
He got up and went into the kitchen.
"Your brother says you want me to leave."
Wilson scraped a spatula along the bottom of the skillet to keep the eggs from sticking to the bottom. "You don't have to stay here just make sure I go home. I'll go when I'm ready."
"What about your job?" They were standing very close together. The kitchen was small, but House was intentionally invading Wilson's personal space. "Everyday you're not there gives someone else a chance to take over your position."
"No one wants my job. You'll lose control of your department before I do. If you haven't already."
House put out and put his hand on Wilson's arm "What I'm about to say, if you ever repeat it to anyone..." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. No one would believe you anyway."
"What?" He didn't pull away. Didn't move closer, either.
"I like having you around. If you don't go back, I'll..."
"Go on."
"I'll never forgive you."
House turned and walked out of the kitchen.
"I'll get a flight out this afternoon."
Tom looked away from the television. "Just like that?"
"You're right. Why should I hang around? There's nothing for me here."
He picked up his cell phone and paged through his phone book until he found the number for the airline.
"House." Wilson walked in from the kitchen and handed Tom his breakfast. "Throwing a fit isn't going to change anything."
"I don't even know what I'm trying to change." House clapped his phone shut and sat it down. "So what, you're tired. You're frustrated. Who isn't? Some days you feel like life is just too much of a struggle. You're not special, Wilson. Oh! And you're afraid he's going to end up out on the street again. Nothing you've said justifies pulling a trick like this."
Tom dropped his fork and gaped. "Is that true Jimmy?"
"One argument at a time, Tom!" Wilson yelled.
"No!" He stood up and faced his brother. "I want to know if what he said is true. Is that what you think? Do you think that I'm going to screw this up?"
"Oh don't act hurt!" House yelled. "You're a fuck up. You said it yourself."
"That's different," Tom said.
Wilson ran his hand through his hair, pulling at in the process. "Yes, I do. You've always left. Things get a little tough and you run away. You say you've changed. I don't know if you have. Your word has never been worth much."
"You're projecting. If you want to accuse me of something say it to me, don't blame him," House said.
"No,that's what I've always done. I never faced my problems. I always ran away. But shit, little brother, do you really think you have any room to talk? You might have a few months ago, but you sure as hell don't now."
"Fuck." Wilson dropped onto the couch. His head fell back. "Fuck," he said to the ceiling. "What the fuck was I supposed to do?"
"You could have told me," House said.
"You said yourself. You wouldn't have listened."
"You could have said something to Cuddy--"
"Or me," Tom interjected.
"Or a therapist. I don't know! You're supposed to be the sane one. If you can't handle something--what do you expect from me? You're supposed to be able to deal with this sort of thing. This isn't something I know how to do."
"This was a mistake," Wilson sighed.
"Ya think?" House asked.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I don't know what I was thinking. It would be better for everyone if I went home."
"You shouldn't go back just because he needs you."
"Why? Because you need him more?" House scowled.
"Will you two stop fighting over me? I don't think I can cope with such an outpouring of affection." He sounded equal parts amused and annoyed.
"You're my brother. You've always been there for me. Whether I deserved it or not. There's nothing you can do that'll change how I feel about you." He walked around the couch and looked down at his brother. "Jimmy? You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." He was stilling staring at the ceiling. Not quite ready to move. But more relaxed than he had been. His shoulders had fallen into a neutral position. His fingers were no longer digging into the couch cushion.
"I'm not so sure about him," Tom nodded towards House.
Wilson turned his head and smiled. "I am."
House didn't smile. Not the way a normal person would. He raised an eyebrow. There was a wicked glint in his eyes. "Are you?"
"Yes, I am."
"Good."
Author:toolazytowork
Character/Pairing(s): House/Wilson
Word Count: 3297
Total Words: ~17555 (According to that great purveyor of truthiness, Wikipedia, this is a novella. Woo.)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: When I grow up, I'm going to Bovine University
Summary: Wilson's moved and left no forwarding address
Author's Notes original prompt from the we_take_five challenge
Prompt: #42 velocity
Part 1-Gone
Part 2-Tom
Part 3-Assistance
Part 4-Wilson
Part 5-California
Part 6-The Waiting
Part 7-Predictable
Alcohol does strange things to sleep patterns. The first few hours are as heavy and dreamless as the remainder are fitful and restless.
************
The first time House woke up he tried to shift position on the couch. His arm had fallen asleep, sharp pinpricks danced along his skin. He had to pee, but wasn't ready to move. For that matter, he wasn't sure he could. He rubbed his arm, tried to get the blood flowing.
Tom had been home for awhile. He hadn't heard him come in. Not much of a surprise there. There wasn't a clock anywhere handy, but he'd put money on it being close 4 am . Over the years, House had discovered that 4 am was the hour when he was most prone to wake from a drink induced sleep.
He needed a pill. The combined effects of sleeping on the couch, a poorly executed fall into unconsciousness and three rounds with Wilson had taken a toll.
The pain was intense. He pushed himself up on his elbow, even that slight movement turned his stomach. He closed his eyes and waited for the waves of nausea to cease.
Wilson had left a glass of water and his bottle of Vicodin on the coffee table.
Wilson Wilson. He was the one who had left the water.
Not Tom. It would take years to get someone that well-trained. It wasn't something that happened overnight.
This apartment contained more than the recommended capacity of Wilsons. One could be too many. Two was just asking for trouble.
It had never occurred to House to use anything other than his first name when talking to or about Tom. Any relationship that begins with an insult should proceed to a casual form of address without much fanfare.
Tom always called Wilson 'Jimmy.' Never James. Or Jim. Jimmy. Without the irony or humor that the nickname deserved. He said it like he still thought of him as a pesky little kid.
Jimmy fell off his bike.
Jimmy's bothering me.
After the events of the last week, maybe he had the right idea.
Slowly, House reached out and picked up the bottle of pills. The cap was loose. It popped off with a flick of his thumb. He swallowed a pill, chased it down with as much of the water as he could drink in one gulp and dropped back onto the couch.
When the drug took effect, then he'd get up. No point in trying to do anything before then.
For now, he could almost make out the conversation in the other room.
Almost.
He could hear murmurs.
The shuffle of sock feet against carpet.
Fractions of language.
Just sound.
White noise.
He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
He must have succeeded.
**************
The second time House woke up his bladder was insistent. As quiet as he could, he shuffled down the hall. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't need his cane. Not for that kind of distance. These were not normal circumstances. His arms were sore. Pinning Wilson to the floor, trying to choke him, that was a greater than usual strain on that particular set of muscles.
His face hurt like hell. Wilson had gotten in a few good punches. Wouldn't have suspected that he fought as well, or as dirty, as he had.
He took some solace in the knowledge that Wilson wouldn't feel too peachy when he woke up.
If or when he was to go to sleep.
They were both awake, and still talking. House wished he knew what time it was. He'd have a much better idea of the stage of the conversation.
"I don't know," Wilson said.
"Yeah, you do."
"We've been over this. Repeatedly. I haven't seen you in ten years and this is what you want to talk about? What kind of answer do you think you'll get this time?"
"How about an honest one."
"Don't try to lecture me. You don't get to be the big brother, Tom. You relinquished that right a long time ago."
"What was I thinking? You have sole rights to any and all lecturing that might take place while you're here."
"Do you have to be such an ass?"
"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm tired. It's been a long, strange week and I'm exhausted."
"I should let you get some sleep. I'll sleep on the floor. House might even be unconscious enough that he won't notice if I steal a cushion off the couch."
"Remember when we were kids and Mom and Dad would take us on vacation and all three of us had to sleep in one bed?"
"You always made me sleep in the middle. I'm lucky neither of you ever suffocated me with a pillow. Not for lack of trying, I suspect."
"We both have plenty of experience with less than ideal sleeping arrangements. I promise not to take more than my share."
"We're not kids anymore. It wouldn't work. It hardly worked then."
"If you'd rather crash on the floor, that's fine. But the offer stands. I'm going to sleep."
House moved away from the door and shut himself into the bathroom. He didn't think it would matter that he was listening. He hadn't heard anything juicy, except that Ma and Pa Wilson liked to travel on the cheap. He'd suspected that anyway.
His face was swollen. Not as bad as it could be. He's have to turn down any magazine cover offers for a week or so.
"House? Are you all right?" Wilson asked.
"Just peeing. I can manage without any help, thanks."
He flushed and opened the door. Wilson was leaning against the wall. He looked terrible. If House had to guess, he'd say that the emotional pain was more intense than the physical.
"Oh God. Your face." He shook his head and looked down at the floor.
House suspected the action was performed more out of embarassment than regret.
"I've had worse. How're you doing?"
"Not too bad. I got in more punches," he shrugged.
House braced himself against the wall. Cane or no cane, he wouldn't be able to stand much longer.
"You don't fight fair."
"As if you do."
Wilson recognized House's expression. The familiar way his brow creased and his eyes focused on some invisible spot in space.
"Do you need help?"
"No."
"If you need anything, I'm here."
"Until you decide you have something better to do."
There was no way to respond to that without starting another fight.
******************
The third time House woke up, he smelled eggs frying and heard the sound of coffee brewing. He didn't feel as bad as he had the last time. He was able to sit up without much more than the usual effort. He swallowed another pill--better safe than sorry--and finished the last of the water.
He turned around on the couch and faced the kitchen.
"Where did you find eggs?"
"The 7-11. Turns out they sell more than Big Gulps."
"That's still the best part."
Wilson chuckled. "Yeah. I got one of those, too."
"You're up early." House got up and walked over to the kitchen.
"It's 10 o'clock. It's hard to get jet lag from train travel. If anything, you have extra time to catch up on your sleep."
"Is that how you got here?"
"Yeah." He slid the cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a plate with two halved slices of buttered toast. "Get a plate. I'll share."
"You were planning to eat four eggs?"
"And toast." He shook his head. "I figured the smell of food would rouse you from your slumber. If it didn't, I probably could have eaten it all. It's been awhile since I had a home cooked meal."
"That's your choice," House said as he pulled a plate out of the cupboard.
"Are we going to have an actual conversation? Or would you like to just keep sniping at me?" He pushed half of the food onto the other plate and handed it to House. "Go sit down. I'll bring the coffee."
He placed the coffee cups down on the table and sat down on the couch next to House. "Sleep well?"
"Like shit. You?"
"I didn't. Couldn't. Every time I thought I was about to fall asleep I'd get this feeling like I was still moving. Still on the train."
"That's normal," House said through a bite of food.
"I've traveled before. I know that feeling. This was different. I didn't want to fall asleep. There's too much going on. I can't help it...This whole thing with Tom, I didn't tell you...I didn't tell anyone. I don't think it's going to last. He'll be back out on the street, or worse, and..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want to bring anyone else into it."
House sat his fork down on the plate and looked at Wilson. "You should have said something."
"Like you would've done anything but make some smart ass remark."
"There are certain things I don't mock." He looked away. "I'm not completely heartless."
"You're pretty damn close sometimes."
"You've known me a long time. Don't you trust me at all?"
Wilson pushed his breakfast around on his plate.
"I asked you a question." House bent his head down until he was in Wilson's line of sight.
"No," he dropped his fork and looked up. "Not then I didn't."
"What about now?"
"I don't know. You're trying, I suppose. That's more than you usually do."
"It's good to know you hold my friendship in such high esteem."
"At least as high as you hold mine."
They sat back on the couch and stared in the direction of the television. The silence would have been much less uncomfortable had it been turned on.
The wrong comeback could be devastating.
House leaned forward and took a piece of toast off of Wilson's plate.
"I was going to eat that."
"You want it back?" He held out the (still whole) piece of bread.
"No, go ahead."
"Thanks."
"It's raw."
"Pretty sure it's toasted. Explains the crispy edges and the golden brown color." He raised his eyebrows, widened his eyes and searched for the hint of a smile.
He got one. A familiar smile. One that said: 'that was a lame joke, and I'm only smiling so you don't stretch it out.'
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah. I do."
The toast gone, he dusted the crumbs off his hands and onto the plate.
Wilson picked up the plates and carried them into the kitchen. He came back a minute later with the coffee pot. "Top you off?"
He held his cup up for Wilson to refill. "If you don't want to go home maybe Tom can get you a job at that overpriced taco stand he works at."
"I'm used to waiting on you." He turned around and went back into the kitchen. "Want a glass of water or anything?"
"Sure."
"I'm sorry," he said as he sat back down on the couch. "My behavior last night...there's no excuse."
"I'm surprised it took you as long as it did."
"That's not the way mature adults deal with their problems. It just makes things worse." He reached his hand out towards the bruises he had inflicted. "I--I..." Frustrated or ashamed, it was hard to tell which, covered his eyes with the palms of his hands.
"So you don't have a problem with anything I did? That's all fine?"
"No! I have questions. But, you were attacked And there were..." He dropped his hands to his lap. "Extenuating circumstances. A lot can be forgiven in that case."
"You threw the first punch. That doesn't mean you instigated it.You should have said something. Not that I would have listened. Not even trying? That's not like you."
"Everyone has a breaking point. I reached mine--no one noticed. If anything, I was supposed to get stronger. You and Cuddy and everyone else, you all assumed I would take care of everything. No one even offered me a choice. I did everything I could to clean up the mess you made. I did it all."
"Yeah, you did."
"Did you even think about what I was going through?"
"Would you believe me if I said yes?"
He chuckled, a sound that somehow didn't sound bitter. Just resigned. "I'd try to."
"But you don't." House shifted closer to Wilson. The action didn't feel natural. He had to try.
The proximity made Wilson tense up and shift closer to the arm of the couch. "What are you doing?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I'm trying to comfort you. This is how you do it, isn't it? Listen. Answer questions with honesty and sincerity. Make eye contact. Apply a well-timed hand on the shoulder."
"It's not a science experiment. You can't quantify compassion. You're either capable of feeling it or you're not. Don't try to fake it. It's below you."
House fought the urge to slide back onto his half of the couch. "It's not fake." He held Wilson's stare. "Is that really that hard for you to believe?"
Wilson tilted further away. "Are you going to try to kiss me again?"
That brought a smile. "Do you want me to?"
He was practically leaning over the arm now. "To be honest, I think I have enough to worry about right now."
"Fair enough." House moved a few inches back towards the middle of the couch.
Wilson relaxed a little. He was sitting on the cushion, at least, instead of hovering over it.
"I'm a better kisser than that. Just for the record."
"I'll keep that in mind," Wilson said. "So am I. Since we're sharing."
Tom walked out of the bedroom. "Morning," he mumbled.
"I going to make him something to eat."
Wilson got up, went to the kitchen and started fixing breakfast.
House picked up his coffee cup and took a drink. It was lukewarm. He choked it down and sat the cup back on the table.
Tom was in the kitchen fixing a cup of coffee.
"Did you sleep at all?"
"Not much." Wilson shook his head. "It's all right. How do you like your eggs?"
"Scrambled is fine."
"Go sit down, I'll bring it out."
"You don't have to wait on me. I can take care of myself."
"It's okay. Sit."
"Yes, Mom."
"Ha."
Tom sat down on the vacant end of the couch. "Heard you had a fun night."
"A real laugh riot."
"Yeah."
They nodded. Tom got up and flipped on the television. He chased through the channels and landed on a Sunday morning news program.
"You should probably go home." His voice was just above a whisper. "Jimmy's here. He's fine. Everything's fine. You can go home now. There's not enough room for all of us, anyway."
House turned to face Tom. "Did he ask you to do this?"
"There's no reason for you to stay."
"That isn't what I asked. Whose idea is this?"
"It's mutual."
"Oh."
Tom turned his attention to the television.
House couldn't be bothered with political commentary.
He got up and went into the kitchen.
"Your brother says you want me to leave."
Wilson scraped a spatula along the bottom of the skillet to keep the eggs from sticking to the bottom. "You don't have to stay here just make sure I go home. I'll go when I'm ready."
"What about your job?" They were standing very close together. The kitchen was small, but House was intentionally invading Wilson's personal space. "Everyday you're not there gives someone else a chance to take over your position."
"No one wants my job. You'll lose control of your department before I do. If you haven't already."
House put out and put his hand on Wilson's arm "What I'm about to say, if you ever repeat it to anyone..." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. No one would believe you anyway."
"What?" He didn't pull away. Didn't move closer, either.
"I like having you around. If you don't go back, I'll..."
"Go on."
"I'll never forgive you."
House turned and walked out of the kitchen.
"I'll get a flight out this afternoon."
Tom looked away from the television. "Just like that?"
"You're right. Why should I hang around? There's nothing for me here."
He picked up his cell phone and paged through his phone book until he found the number for the airline.
"House." Wilson walked in from the kitchen and handed Tom his breakfast. "Throwing a fit isn't going to change anything."
"I don't even know what I'm trying to change." House clapped his phone shut and sat it down. "So what, you're tired. You're frustrated. Who isn't? Some days you feel like life is just too much of a struggle. You're not special, Wilson. Oh! And you're afraid he's going to end up out on the street again. Nothing you've said justifies pulling a trick like this."
Tom dropped his fork and gaped. "Is that true Jimmy?"
"One argument at a time, Tom!" Wilson yelled.
"No!" He stood up and faced his brother. "I want to know if what he said is true. Is that what you think? Do you think that I'm going to screw this up?"
"Oh don't act hurt!" House yelled. "You're a fuck up. You said it yourself."
"That's different," Tom said.
Wilson ran his hand through his hair, pulling at in the process. "Yes, I do. You've always left. Things get a little tough and you run away. You say you've changed. I don't know if you have. Your word has never been worth much."
"You're projecting. If you want to accuse me of something say it to me, don't blame him," House said.
"No,that's what I've always done. I never faced my problems. I always ran away. But shit, little brother, do you really think you have any room to talk? You might have a few months ago, but you sure as hell don't now."
"Fuck." Wilson dropped onto the couch. His head fell back. "Fuck," he said to the ceiling. "What the fuck was I supposed to do?"
"You could have told me," House said.
"You said yourself. You wouldn't have listened."
"You could have said something to Cuddy--"
"Or me," Tom interjected.
"Or a therapist. I don't know! You're supposed to be the sane one. If you can't handle something--what do you expect from me? You're supposed to be able to deal with this sort of thing. This isn't something I know how to do."
"This was a mistake," Wilson sighed.
"Ya think?" House asked.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I don't know what I was thinking. It would be better for everyone if I went home."
"You shouldn't go back just because he needs you."
"Why? Because you need him more?" House scowled.
"Will you two stop fighting over me? I don't think I can cope with such an outpouring of affection." He sounded equal parts amused and annoyed.
"You're my brother. You've always been there for me. Whether I deserved it or not. There's nothing you can do that'll change how I feel about you." He walked around the couch and looked down at his brother. "Jimmy? You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." He was stilling staring at the ceiling. Not quite ready to move. But more relaxed than he had been. His shoulders had fallen into a neutral position. His fingers were no longer digging into the couch cushion.
"I'm not so sure about him," Tom nodded towards House.
Wilson turned his head and smiled. "I am."
House didn't smile. Not the way a normal person would. He raised an eyebrow. There was a wicked glint in his eyes. "Are you?"
"Yes, I am."
"Good."